


Must Have Been The Wind

by Insomnia_Productions



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Gen, I just want good things for Alois is that too much to ask, M/M, Slow Burn, aka how to write a song about abuse w/o being a creep about it, based on the Alec Benjamin song, bc this is still ultimately a cielois fic, bc we're not about that "treat you better" mentality in this house, the friendship aspect is more important here than the ship, to potential future lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25972978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: Not a smirk or a grin or a too-bright beam, but a small, pleased quirk of the lips that reaches all the way up to his eyes. Ciel realizes that he hasn’t seen Alois smile with his eyes before.The smile disappears as Trancy launches into some other completely unrelated topic, and, oh, god, no — Ciel finds himself wanting to see that smile again. It looks nice on him. It looks human.He’s human,Ciel thinks, as he watches Trancy talk.And no human deserves this. No human deserves abuse.Goddammit. He’s got to stay and see this through.
Relationships: Ciel Phantomhive & Alois Trancy, Ciel Phantomhive/Alois Trancy, Elizabeth Midford & Alois Trancy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 119





	Must Have Been The Wind

Ciel moves into apartment 15C on a Tuesday in late July. This action, in and of itself, is entirely unremarkable.

* * *

**September**

After nearly two months living beneath apartment 16C, Ciel feels ready to commit a felony. It doesn’t have to be murder — although murder would be favorable, of course, and, being a junior detective, Ciel is fairly confident he could pull it off without being caught, except perhaps by Sebstian, who is immoral enough to cover for him anyways. It could be a near-fatal maiming, perhaps, or a bit of light torture, or maybe, for long-lasting effects, he could have the pair of them kidnapped and shipped to Bosnia. 

Ciel can’t decide which of his upstairs neighbors he hates more. The obvious answer would be Alois Trancy, of course. He’s loud and obnoxious and licentious and  _ loud _ — just about everything Ciel hates in a person, and then some. Ciel can hear him,  _ constantly _ , his voice oozing through the roof — tireless, inane chatter occasionally interrupted by bouts of song. It isn't that Trancy has a bad voice, per se, but is some peace and quiet really too much to ask for? Not that Ciel would ever ask — no, he has more decorum than to go bothering his neighbors —  _ unlike _ Trancy, who seems to delight in badgering Ciel every minute he can.  _ How _ that Claude Faustus puts up with it all is beyond Ciel’s comprehension. 

But then, of course, there’s  _ Faustus _ . On the surface, sure, he appears leagues above Trancy — not that  _ that’s _ saying much — but there’s something strange about him, something just slightly  _ off  _ in his pale, narrow eyes, in the way his thin lips curl up on one side. Sometimes Ciel feels that cool gaze on him, after long days when he returns home later than usual, when Faustus’ eyes look pink in the dusk light and track him unabashedly as he walks past, smile thin and sharp and almost ghoulish, like he’s some kind of predatory bird, like he’s a Fae creature ready to snap his fingers and steal Ciel’s soul right out from under him. So, perhaps Faustus  _ is _ the worse of the two. 

Or perhaps, Ciel thinks, as he rounds the corner and sees a flash of platinum hair, he just hates them both. 

Trancy’s eyes light up the moment Ciel comes into view, that oh-so-irritating smirk tugging on lips just  _ slightly  _ too glossy to be natural. He’s leaning against the glass wall of the dance studio he works at — a piece of information Ciel  _ resents _ being forced to learn on account of whichever  _ accursed _ city planner placed the studio directly between Ciel’s workplace and the metro — and he’s dressed in his usual attire of booty shorts and a loose purple top that slips from one shoulder. Ciel keeps his eyes fixed firmly ahead, but in his peripheral vision, he notes that Trancy is not wearing shoes, and a small piece of his soul shrivels up in horror. 

Trancy pushes off the wall as Ciel approaches, bounding forward to loop their arms together and laughing directly into his ear when Ciel scowls. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Ciel,” he says, as though Ciel doesn’t,  _ unfortunately, _ walk past here every goddamn day. “Catch any baddies today?” His smirk widens. “Any  _ weirdos  _ I should know about?” 

Ciel slips out of his grip, dusting himself off. Trancy watches with unveiled amusement. “I don’t doubt that  _ you _ are  _ intimately  _ acquainted with all the -  _ weirdos _ \- of this city, Trancy, but, by happy chance,  _ I _ have not had the misfortune of entreating with any of them but  _ one. _ ” 

Trancy snickers, skipping ahead to block Ciel’s path, and Ciel tries not to think about the sound of bare feet scraping against a grimy pavement. He keeps walking, and Trancy, unsurprisingly, walks backwards, keeping pace. “You’re in a rush to get home, huh? Why? It’s so  _ boring  _ back there.” 

“I have work to do.” 

That gets him an eye-roll. “It’s five o’clock. Live a little.’’ Trancy spreads his arms and smiles. “Stay awhile.” The smile becomes a smirk. “I’d  _ love _ to  _ entreat _ with you some more.” 

_ “Excuse _ me—?” 

Before Ciel can verbally eviscerate his neighbor for this  _ nonsense _ , a soft bell sounds and Trancy’s eyes slide back to the door of a studio, and he heaves a long suffering sigh. “Ahh… break’s over.” He steps to the side, clearing Ciel’s path, and offers him a wave of his fingers before skipping back into the studio, calling over his shoulder as he goes. “See you around, Ciel~!” 

“Absolutely not,” Ciel mutters, and returns to his contemplations of felony. 

.

There — there it is. 

It’s close to one in the morning and, after hours of lying in bed, excruciatingly awake, Ciel feels it — that elusive, tantalizing, entirely indescribable feeling of sleep approaching. He stays very still, willing his muscles to relax, trying not to think too much about it. He starts to feel lighter, less aware, less present. Finally,  _ finally,  _ sleep begins to reach him, lifting the day’s weight from his body, easing him into darkness, almost… almost… 

_ CRASH! _

Ciel jolts awake, biting back a cry of frustration as all his sleepiness vanishes, leaving only exhaustion and anger in its place as he scowls up at the ceiling. That sounded like glass — a large cup, or a vase, or something else heavy and fragile. Trancy must be having a tantrum, from the muffled voices permeating into his apartment. Ciel presses his pillow over his face, and, for just a moment, the noises disappear. 

Then there’s a loud thud, followed by a few more beats of silence, and then a door slams loudly enough that his ceiling fan quivers, and Ciel resigns himself to another sleepless night. 

There’s no point skulking around in bed, with only a blank ceiling for a view, so Ciel pulls his shoes and jacket on and stomps down the hall to the lift, stabbing just slightly too harshly at the button for the roof garden. It’s the one nice thing about this godforsaken building, though not nearly enough to make up for apartment 16C. 

Ciel steps out into the cool night air, breathing in the faint scent of roses, allowing it to calm him. It really is a lovely garden. He strolls through it, enjoying the view, enjoying the silence, and then, because nothing in his life can ever just be good, the silence is broken by a sob. Ciel turns. 

There, curled on the floor between two bushes with his knees drawn to his chest, is Alois Trancy. Ciel stifles a groan, fully prepared to turn around and leave — but something about the sight gives him pause. Trancy looks so small, for someone so loud, curled up like that, and he looks pale under the moonlight, almost pallid, washed out. And there is the matter of the sob, if that is what it was. Ciel feels himself walking over before he can process the motion, and he stands over Trancy, awkward, unsure. 

“Trancy?” he ventures, after a few moments of uneasy silence. 

Trancy jerks as though shocked and looks up. His eyes look a little red, but it’s dark and hard to tell, and Ciel can’t see any tear tracks on his face. Slowly, pale blue eyes come into focus and he unfurls, standing. Ciel takes a step back. They look at each other appraisingly. 

It’s Trancy who breaks the silence first, his lips quirking into a smirk that seems out of place with the stricken look he’d had moments before. “Hello, Ciel. Are you here to entreat?” 

Ciel scowls. He should’ve known better than to try and be nice to Alois Trancy. “You woke me up. The least you could do is let me sit up here in peace.” 

Trancy spreads his arms in a grand gesture of the open space. “I’m not stopping you.”

There is no polite response Ciel can give to that, and from Trancy’s grin, he is aware of this. Ciel huffs and turns away. “Whatever, Trancy.” Out of a bland sort of curiosity, he adds, “What was all that, anyway? Must you be so noisy at one in the morning?” 

Trancy blinks at him a few times, grin fading. “What noise?” 

Ciel scowls. “Don’t. I’m too tired for your nonsense right now. I heard a crash from your place, amongst other things. If, in the future, you could refrain from being such a nuisance in the middle of the night—” 

“I didn’t hear anything.” 

Ciel blinks. Trancy’s voice is not teasing or provocative — it’s blank, almost toneless. Ciel narrows his eyes. 

“What do you mean, you didn’t hear anything?”

“I mean I didn’t  _ hear _ anything, Phantomhive.” Suddenly the grin comes back. “I think your ears are playing tricks on you. Might wanna get that checked out.” 

“My ears are  _ fine,”  _ Ciel snaps. “I know what I heard - or I wouldn’t be _ awake _ right now.” 

Trancy only shrugs arily, waving a dismissive hand. “If you say so. I guess it must have been the wind.” 

“Right,” Ciel says flatly. “The wind.” 

Trancy studies him for a moment longer, grin still in place, and then shrugs again. “Well, guess I’ll leave you to  _ sit up here in peace. _ ” He saunters away, swaying as he goes. “Goodnight, Ciel~” 

Ciel stares after him, brows furrowed. Something doesn’t quite sit right about this interaction, about Trancy’s smiles, the way he spoke, the things he said — the sob Ciel is almost sure he heard. 

Then again, this is Alois Trancy — when has anything about the man ever made sense? If Trancy says it was the wind, then who is Ciel to question that? 

After all, it’s not like he particularly cares, one way or the other. 

* * *

**October**

“Really,” Sebastian drawls, leaning back in his chair so that the plastic tilts and the leather creaks softly, “with the way you’re going on, one might think you care about the boy.” 

Ciel levels him with a scowl fierce enough to wither even the most dedicated of garden weeds—but, as always, Sebastian remains unimpressed. 

“I don’t. He’s an obnoxious, spoiled little shit, not to mention  _ loud _ . And a  _ pervert _ .” 

“You certainly seem to pay a lot of attention to him, for all that.” 

Ciel throws up his hands. “Hard not to when he’s throwing himself at me at every opportunity - I mean, for god’s sake, Sebastian, he works  _ down the street _ from here! It’s impossible to avoid him - so of course I’m going to - notice things about him, now and then.” 

“If you say so.” Sebastian gives a languid, single-shouldered shrug, but Ciel knows him well enough to read past the relaxed facade; it’s all there in the way his eyes sharpen, the slight quirk of his mouth. He stretches before speaking. “Well, if it bothers you so much, and you can’t let it go, you could always turn the situation to your advantage.” 

“How?”

“You’re a detective, aren’t you? Look at Trancy’s case through the eyes of a mystery-solver. Think of it as practice. And you can assuage your worries, besides.” 

“I’m not worried,” Ciel snaps, instinctively, and then pauses, considering his mentor’s advice. “You know, that may be a decent idea.” 

Sebastian smiles, spreading his palms. “Always happy to be of service.” His mouth twists slightly, the only show of genuine emotion he’s put on all day, and he gives Ciel a slight frown. “Let me know what you find, and be careful about it. I told you that I knew Faustus in college… he isn’t the sort of man you want to cross.” 

And so Ciel’s investigation begins. 

.

The witness testimony stands as follows: 

Hannah Annafellows, in apartment 16A, avoids both of her neighbors with dedication. “They have a toxic vibe about them,” she mutters to Ciel, twitching her lilac shawl about her shoulders. “I can’t stand to be near them - either of them.” 

Well, Ciel can’t argue with her about that. 

The Triplets, as they identify themselves, of apartment 16B, couldn’t give two shits about Claude Faustus—but, they confide in a whispered chorus, if they ever see Alois Trancy, they cross to the other side of the hall. “He’s bad news,” one of them murmurs. 

“Like a black cat,” the second supplies. Ciel nods along; this is true, of course. 

The third gives a shrug. “There’s something off about their relationship, for sure,” he says, and his brothers chime in as he concludes. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was part of some strange kink.” 

Bard and Mei-Rin of apartment 14C are gentler in their assessment. “He’s annoying,” Mei-Rin says, thumbing almost nervously at the bridge of her glasses. “Extremely annoying. But sometimes I think he seems very sad, too.” 

Bard nods his agreement. Ciel notes that he smells strange, like smoke, like gasoline. Bard says, “I hear ‘em talking sometimes, and it seems to me like that Faustus is always shittin’ on Trancy’s ideas and accomplishments. He can be very dismissive.” 

“Insulting, even,” Mei-Rin adds, shaking her head. “It isn’t right - that kind of negativity. It’s mean. I’d understand it, maybe, coming from Trancy - he’s only twenty-one, after all, practically a kid. But Faustus is thirty or so - he should know better, you’d think.” 

Privately, Ciel thinks that, if he were bombarded with Alois Trancy’s ideas on a daily basis, he might turn out a little bit mean, too. 

Finally, there is Finny, from apartment 15B. The strangest of the lot, he seems almost  _ fond  _ of Trancy. “Oh, you mean Alois?” he asks, when Ciel approaches with his questions, and smiles like the sun. “I like him a lot!” Ciel bites back a sharp  _ why?! _ but Finny provides an answer anyway. “Alois is such a creative person, and he’s really funny, too!” He frowns suddenly, and the expression is so foreign on his face that Ciel feels genuinely unsettled. “But sometimes I worry about him… I mean, Claude, the guy Alois lives with… he gives me the heebie-jeebies, y’know?” 

“Me, too,” Ciel mutters, and Finny gives him a solemn look. 

“I’m glad you’re looking out for him,” he says, and then beams brightly. “Someone like you. I’m glad you’re his friend.”

Ciel suppresses a shudder as Finny skips back down the hall. What a  _ disturbing _ thing to say. 

.

An unfortunate requisite of Ciel’s investigation is the need to  _ interact  _ with Trancy. This isn’t hard to do; the man waits for him nearly every day, lingering, shoeless, leaning on the glass wall of his dance studio, a spider lurking in ambush. Ciel flies willingly into his web, and it is  _ exactly  _ as awful as anticipated. 

Every word exchanged with Trancy makes Ciel want to stab his own eye out — which is saying something, considering that he only has the one to begin with. Trancy flirts constantly with Ciel, and won’t stop  _ touching  _ him, and sometimes he even  _ sings _ , but perhaps the  _ worst  _ of it is that he  _ never stops talking.  _ Over the next few weeks, Ciel learns more than he ever wanted to about Trancy’s hair care routine, about the classifications of the butterflies he’s spotted visiting his windowsill garden, about his scented candle collection and his favorite nail polish labels and his rating system for overly-creative condom names and the family of pet rocks he once owned and his least favorite fourth of the stove and  _ every other useless goddamn trivial unwarranted opinion under the fucking sun—  _

But. 

It pays off. 

For all the stress, and for every near-busted vein, it pays off, because Ciel starts to notice. 

Sometimes it’s a crash, like that first night. Sometimes it’s a slam or a thud, like a door shut in haste. Sometimes it’s raised voices, muffled by brick and mortar but no less strained, and angry, and hurt. Sometimes it’s all of that. Sometimes it’s silence. 

But each time, without fail, and with increasing frequency of late, Trancy will emerge the following morning looking tired, or sad, or with eyes that are slightly too shadowed, slightly too red. He’s back to his boisterous self by the afternoon, all bright smiles and salacious quips, but now that Ciel is looking, he catches the hunch of his shoulders, the way his limbs move just a fraction too slowly, like his muscles are stalled and lagging from too many sleepless nights. 

And, now that Ciel is looking, he realizes that it’s getting worse. Trancy is still a rambunctious nightmare, and, a month ago, Ciel would never have noticed the way his light seems to dim with each passing day. Granted, it is the dimming of a supernova into a second, slightly smaller supernova — but it is a dimming nonetheless, and now that Ciel is paying attention, it seems as obvious as the sun blinking out of the sky. 

And for all of Trancy’s apparent suffering,  _ Faustus _ appears entirely untouched by the crashing, and the yelling, and the noises in the night. If anything, he appears more confident and content than ever. And, oh, does that give Ciel the — what was it? — the  _ heebie-jeebies.  _

.

“I’ve decided,” Ciel declares at the end of the month, “or rather, I’ve come to the conclusion that Alois Trancy is in an abusive relationship.” He pauses. “To be precise, an emotionally abusive relationship.” 

“Very well,” Sebastian says. “I suppose we can all finally get on with our lives now.” 

Ciel blinks. “What do you mean by that?” 

“Well, you set out to solve a mystery, and now you have solved it. We can therefore put this episode behind us and carry on as normal.” He leans forward, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “After all, this was merely an exercise in curiosity, was it not? It’s not as though you care for Trancy beyond his status as a previously unanswered question. Right?” 

“Right,” Ciel agrees at once, and feels something heavy curl in his gut. 

Sebastian settles back in his chair. “Then it is behind us.”

Ciel nods. “Behind us.” 

. 

Trancy is waiting for him on the walk home, as usual, but today he’s wearing shoes and has a bag slung over his shoulder, and he falls into step with Ciel instead of blocking his path. 

“We’re closing early today,” he explains, though Ciel had not asked and could have surmised as much on his own. “It’s the owner’s daughter’s birthday. Allegedly.” 

“Allegedly.” In the back of his mind, Ciel wonders how he can politely go back to ignoring Trancy, now that conversations with him are no longer a requirement. 

Trancy smirks, tossing his head. “Oh, yes. It’s what she says, but no one really believes her.  _ I  _ don’t think she  _ has _ a daughter at all. First  _ I’ve _ ever heard of her.” 

“Fascinating.” He could, of course, simply revert to how he interacted with Trancy one month ago, but somehow that feels too rude. 

“No,” Trancy continues, “I think she made up a daughter - or at the very least a daughter’s birthday - because she doesn’t want us knowing that she’s going to the annual Annelidwatchers’ convention, which  _ just so happens _ to be tonight.” He gives a dark grin, which Ciel is vaguely aware of in his peripheral vision. “Of course, what  _ she _ doesn’t know is that  _ I’m _ going, too! Can’t pass up such a stellar opportunity to share my opinions on The Worms, you see.”

“Quite.” Really, there is no reason why he should worry about being  _ nice _ to Trancy. As soon as the thought enters his head, Ciel feels a wash of guilt, and tries to stamp it down. Trancy is not his responsibility.

“Yes, embarrassing my boss and/or collating blackmail material on her for future use  _ aside _ , I feel it  _ beyond _ important that I be present tonight to dispense my wisdom on the current Worm Discourse.” 

“And what would that be.” 

“Oh, some scientist said that common worms are the worst annelids because all they do is wiggle around,” he gives a demonstrative wiggle, as if Ciel  _ asked, _ “and occasionally fuck themselves.” 

Ciel lifts an eyebrow. “And you’re going to disagree with him, as a certified worm expert.” 

“Oh, no,” Trancy says solemnly. “I’m going to  _ agree _ , as a certified  _ worm. _ ” 

Ciel hears a soft huff of laughter, and realizes it came from him. He glances over at Trancy to see the other looking at him in wide-eyed surprise, before he suddenly smiles — not a smirk or a grin or a too-bright beam, but a small, pleased quirk of the lips that reaches all the way up to his eyes. Ciel realizes that he hasn’t seen Alois smile with his eyes before. 

The smile disappears as Trancy launches into some other completely unrelated topic, and, oh, god, no — Ciel finds himself wanting to see that smile again. It looks nice on him. It looks human. 

_ He’s human,  _ Ciel thinks, as he watches Trancy talk.  _ And no human deserves this. No human deserves abuse.  _

He’s got to stay and see this through. 

* * *

**November**

Befriending Alois Trancy is surprisingly easy. He is still loud, still grating, and he still waits for Ciel on the grimy pavement without any shoes on, no matter how many times Ciel implores him to  _ at least wear socks _ — but slowly Ciel finds himself growing accustomed to Trancy’s idiosyncrasies. 

Perhaps it’s that Ciel has a mission, now — that he's made a promise, to himself, to Trancy, that he intends to honor. Perhaps it’s the way Trancy seems to settle and calm the more they talk, his lewd humor now turned to other subjects more often than not, although he still throws the occasional flirtatious comment Ciel’s way. Perhaps it’s simply the mere exposure effect. But Ciel is starting to get used to Alois Trancy, and it’s — not as bad as he’d expected. 

Except for one thing. 

.

“His eyes are creepy.” 

“His eyes are beautiful.” 

“They unsettle me.” 

“Well,” Trancy hums. “That is your personal problem.” 

Ciel frowns, watching with a flat gaze as Faustus walks away from where he and Trancy are sitting in the gardens of the condo. “I don’t understand why you let him do that.” 

Trancy blinks owlishly at him. “Do what?” 

“This.” Ciel gestures vaguely. “It was a - decent idea. And he -” 

“Decent idea?” Trancy laughs behind his hands. “Ciel, you don’t know  _ anything _ about theatre and the auditions process, how on earth could  _ you _ tell if it was decent?” 

“I’ve been to the theatre,” Ciel grumbles. “And I thought it sounded decent.” 

“Well, thank you!” 

“In any case, you were talking about your passion - something you love.” Ciel wrinkles his nose. “Far be it from me to hail  _ musical theatre _ as a - worthy profession -”

Trancy grips his heart. “Ouch!” 

“- but, regardless, it’s something that you’re good at, and it makes you happy, and it makes you  _ money _ , besides. He has no right to dismiss your career ambitions like that.”

_ “You _ dismiss my ambitions all the time.” 

“I’m your friend,” Ciel says, and feels only a small pang of surprise at how easily, how naturally the words slip off his tongue. “He’s your lover. It’s not the same.” 

“Ciel…” 

“It’s not right.”

Trancy huffs, flopping back on the grass, not bothered how the grass and dirt sully his soft hair. Ciel is bothered on his behalf. “It’s fine, Ciel. He’s right, anyway. I’m just - not good enough, right now, for  _ real _ theatre.” He turns his head, cheek pressed to the grass, and smiles at Ciel. “I’ll stick to the studio, and,” he waves a dismissive hand, “the bars and restaurants, and all that… at least I make some money from those, so I’m not completely useless around the house.”

Ciel frowns, but Trancy has already turned away, eyes flitting left and right as he tracks the movements of the clouds above them. 

“Even if I got the role, I would be busy all the time, and Claude works so hard, and does so much for me… it wouldn’t be fair of me to just drop everything and have fun like that, and not be free when he needs me, you know?”

“If he really loved you,” Ciel says, “he would be happy for you.” 

“Claude loves me!” 

Ciel almost flinches at the sudden intensity in Trancy’s voice, the way he jerks up from the ground, knees coming up to his chest. 

“Claude loves me,’’ he insists, giving Ciel a fierce glare. “You don’t know anything about us, so don’t get involved where you’re not  _ wanted,  _ Phantomhive.” 

Ciel stares at him, and slowly raises his palms. “Alright.” He knows, now, that Alois only ever calls him Phantomhive when he’s upset. “Alright, I - apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you.” 

Trancy holds the glare a moment longer, and then something in his face seems to crumple and he turns away with a sigh. “Claude still loves me,” he murmurs again, and Ciel isn’t sure if he’s meant to hear, but he does. “I just need to figure out how to be better,” and his voice is soft, so soft now that Ciel has to strain to catch the words. “I just have to figure out how to be better, so that he’ll remember.”

.

Lizzy comes to town. 

Her interior design reality show is grappling with a house just outside the city, so his cousin will be staying for a good few months, and Ciel couldn’t be more grateful for her timing.

He goes to see her on a Friday and finally, finally vents his frustrations to a kinder ear than Sebastian’s. 

“I don’t understand,” he groans into his cup, “how a person can be so  _ egotistical  _ and have such  _ low  _ self-esteem at the same time. I mean,” he moans, taking another biscuit, “it’s not as though  _ I  _ think he’s particularly great, either - but he’s better than he’s making himself out to be, at the very least!” 

Lizzy blinks at him over the rim of her teacup, and Ciel suspects that she is trying to hide a smile. 

“It’s frustrating. It’s  _ irritating. _ He just won’t listen to reason - although, really, I was a fool to expect that  _ Alois Trancy  _ would.”

“Oh, Ciel,” Lizzy sighs. “You haven’t changed.” At Ciel’s raised eyebrow, she sets the tea down and smiles. “Step out of your head for a moment and try some empathy, could you? Alois met Claude early on in university, didn’t he? They’ve known each other quite a while now… if Claude has been putting him down all that time, well… you can see how Alois might have really internalized all that negativity.”

Ciel nods. “I see your point, it’s just… it’s annoying, because I feel as though - well, it’s as though I’m trying to teach a simple math problem to a ridiculously slow pupil. I know, of course, that it isn’t that simple, psychologically speaking - but that’s how it feels.” 

“Maybe Alois has had a history with self-esteem issues, even outside of his relationship with Claude. That would make it even harder to get through to him, with all the damage Claude has done.” Lizzy twirls her hair around her finger, looking contemplatively at Ciel. “You used to complain all the time when you first moved there, about how he was always bothering you - and I would tell you that he just wanted your attention, remember? Well, this is the same thing. You need to start looking at things from his perspective, instead of just your own. It’s not easy to think well of yourself when someone you love thinks so little of you.” 

“But he does think well of himself! He’s the most self-centered person I’ve met!” 

“Aside from yourself, you mean.” 

Ciel gives her a flat look. “Very funny, Elizabeth.” He closes his eyes, lets out a long breath. “Fine. Very well. His perspective.” Ciel opens his eyes. “I need to know more about him, first. But I suspect that will be a challenge.” He worries his lower lip, thinking about it. “For someone so flamboyant, he’s very cagey about his emotions, and his past.” 

A giggle from Lizzy draws Ciel from his musings and he scowls as she grins at him. 

“What.” 

“Oh, nothing, Ciel. It’s just cute how much you care for him, considering how much you hated him just a few months ago.” 

Ciel’s scowl deepens. “I don’t care about him. I’m just - doing my job as a - human being with a moral compass.” 

“Right,” Lizzy giggles. “Of course. It’s just that it’s been so long since I’ve seen you so focused on somebody other than yourself.”

“Shut up,” Ciel tells her eloquently, and walks out of the house. 

. 

True to his expectations, Trancy continues to brush off any and all attempts Ciel makes to pry into his past, and the more he does it, the more Ciel’s suspicions rise. 

“I have him on file,” Sebastian says, after a week and a half Ciel’s botched attempts. “You can certainly take a look, if you’d like.”

Ciel bites back the profanities that rise in his throat at Sebastian’s smug grin and takes the file. Trancy is on record for some petty thefts and street fights in his teens, which does not surprise Ciel at all. What does surprise him are the vague records of a rather high-profile case that Trancy was apparently involved in when he was just 14. 

In the cab en route to the law firm listed in Trancy’s file, Ciel acknowledges that he is, perhaps, being just a tad shady in doing this. But then again, Claude Faustus is shadier than he will ever be, and by an order of magnitude or ten, so Ciel feels that he is quite guiltless in this matter. 

William, Trancy’s lawyer for the case, refuses to give out information involving a minor, but Grell, an intern at the time of the case, overhears their argument and pulls Ciel aside as he leaves the building in a huff. 

“I have no qualms about spilling the beans,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper, “but I don’t fancy getting into trouble either. Still, though…” She gives Ciel an appraising look. “I liked that kid, and I’m a damn good judge of character. You seem like the kind of person who’s trying to help Alois, not hurt him, so I’ll give you a hint.” 

Ciel goes home that evening, opens his laptop, and looks up the name ‘Jim Macken’. 

* * *

**December**

It is when Alois — Jim — glares at him with flushed red cheeks, and tears and daggers in his cornflower eyes, that Ciel thinks he might have misstepped. 

“You had no right,” he hisses, voice trembling, Ciel can tell, from the effort not to let it break. “You - you had no - it wasn’t yours to -” He never finishes the sentence, heavy teardrops spilling down his face faster than he can slash them away. “Fuck you,” he says between breaths, and Ciel feels his chest constrict. 

He watches Alois run away — run home, run back up to his apartment where Faustus is surely waiting — and is shocked and unsettled by how  _ awful  _ he feels. He’s supposed to be  _ helping  _ Alois, not hurting him more — but there’s more to this guilt than that, and, somewhere deep down, Ciel knows this. The scene keeps repeating, over and over in his head:  _ he made Alois cry.  _

He made Alois cry. 

Why does that bother him so much? 

.

Lizzy calls him an idiot. Ciel hangs up on her.

Privately, though, he agrees. 

.

It takes a week for Alois to talk to him again, and then only because Ciel catches him in the lift in the morning. He notes the way Alois presses back, almost flat against the far wall of the enclosed space, and guilt washes over him again. 

The lift starts to descend. 

“What do you want,” Alois murmurs, eyes pointed down. 

“I’m sorry,” Ciel tells him. “I know it isn’t enough, and I know I was - wrong,” Alois looks up at that, wide-eyed, and the slight smile tugging at his lips almost makes the admission worth it, “but I want you to know that I didn’t do it out of malice. I’m just - I’m  _ worried  _ about you, Alois.” Ciel feels himself blink in surprise at the sincerity of that statement, and sees the sentiment reflected in Alois. He looks down. “I worry about you, and I - thought that I could understand better if… well, I was wrong, clearly, so I suppose my reasoning doesn’t matter. The point is, I’m sorry. And it doesn’t change anything, for me. I still want to be your friend - if you’ll have me.” 

They pass the 14th floor, the 13th, the 10th, the 5th. Slowly, Alois unfurls. 

“...Okay.” 

Ciel looks up. “Okay?” 

“Okay, I’ll forgive you. On one condition.” He fixes Ciel with a solemn look that seems out of place against his features.  _ “Never  _ try to make me talk about my past again, and stop  _ investigating _ me.” 

“Deal. Can you do something for me, too?”

“Pushing your luck, Phantomhive.”

“I know. Even so… can you try to be more open about your emotions? I’m your friend, if you’re going through something, I can help.” 

Alois smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sure.” 

He’s lying, Ciel knows, but he lets it go, and Alois starts to relax. 

They commute to work together in comfortable silence — strange, he’d never thought he’d experience such a thing with Alois Trancy — and when they reach the studio Alois pulls him into a hug. It isn’t the first time; Alois is a tactile person, and he’d had a tendency to hang all over Ciel even before they became friends. But this hug feels more innocent, and, at the same time, more intimate, somehow. 

“Thank you,” Alois whispers. 

“For what?” 

Alois pulls away, and smiles, and walks into the studio without a word. 

. 

“Which name would you prefer,” Ciel asks him one day. “Alois or Jim?”

Alois thinks about it for a long moment, humming softly, fingers drumming lightly against the line of his jaw. “Alois,” he decides at last, and smirks. “Alois Trancy. It gives me a little thrill, you know? Thinking that the old man is out there in the universe, watching me drag his legacy through the mud.” 

He laughs suddenly, a short, delighted sound, and Ciel finds himself smiling back. 

“Alois Trancy it is,” he says, and hopes, just for a moment, that life after death does exist, so the boy once called Jim Macken can have his vindictive wish. 

.

On Christmas Day, Alois presents him with a ticket. 

“It’s not  _ actual _ theatre, I suppose,” he says. “Just community theatre, and I don’t get paid. But it’s the main role, and it’s  _ fun,  _ and I - I want someone to see it. And you know Claude doesn’t care about silly things like this.” He takes Ciel’s hands, squeezes them tight. “Please, please say you’ll come, Ciel?” 

Ciel finds that he couldn’t say no if he wanted to. 

It’s at that performance that he first sees Alois onstage. And it is at that performance that Ciel sits straight in the rickety wooden chair with his fingers curled tight around the edges of his coat and thinks,  _ Oh, he’s beautiful.  _

It’s not that he hadn’t noticed, before, that Alois was easy on the eyes — but it was a peripheral observation, second, always, to the more glaring fact of what a  _ nightmare _ he was. But Alois has changed — or perhaps only Ciel has — and now, witnessing him in his element, the way he moves so gracefully, the unexpected sweetness of his voice, it becomes apparent that Alois is  _ beautiful.  _

And also, Ciel grudgingly admits to himself, far more talent than Ciel had given him credit for. 

The realization of Alois’ beauty is surprising, to say the least, but he is not alarmed by it — although, later, Ciel will reflect that he really, really should have been. 

When the play ends, Alois comes running out, still in costume, except, Ciel notes, barefoot, because of course he is, and Ciel has only the time to turn in his direction before Alois is crashing into him, arms flung around his shoulders, laughing into his ear. 

“Wasn’t that great, Ciel? Wasn’t I good?” 

Ciel tries to pry him off in vain, before giving up and returning the hug. Alois clings to him tighter. He means to give some snarky response, as per form, but what comes out instead is, “Yes. You were  _ amazing.”  _

Alois pulls back just long enough to gape at him, cheeks pink, before letting out an ungodly shriek and enveloping him in an even tighter hug. Ciel doesn’t even try to wriggle out of this one. 

“I can’t believe this!” Alois is yelling, directly into his ear.  _ “You _ complimenting  _ me!  _ This is  _ unheard  _ of!” 

“Don’t get used to it,” Ciel grumbles, and tries not to think about the way Alois smells, like flowers and salt and spice.

Eventually Alois releases him, and Ciel keeps a few steps behind him as they walk home, listening to his friend chatter and mile a minute. He lost track of what Alois was talking about a good three blocks ago, but he lets that warm, bubbly voice wash over him in welcome waves, and in the meantime his eyes drift, tracing the broad, dramatic movements of Alois’ hands as he rambles, the way the dusk sunlight catches his hair and turns it red and pink and orange, the glimmer in his eyes every time he turns around to see if Ciel is still paying attention. 

Alois catches these lingering looks and smirks, and then winks, and Ciel turns the other way to hide the blush that spreads unflatteringly up his neck and across his cheeks. 

_ Oh god, _ he thinks.  _ Oh, fuck. I’m attracted to Alois Trancy.  _

.

Later, in the night, he sits at his desk and stares up at the ceiling, and he resolves to lock these newfound feelings away. 

Like it or not, he has, in spite of himself, come to care for Alois. And if that care has developed into something more… Well, it does nothing to detract from Ciel’s ultimate goal, which is to coax Alois out of a toxic situation. Right now, that goal is all that matters — Alois’ wellbeing is the  _ only  _ thing that matters. 

He does not intend to help Alois out an abusive relationship only to impose  _ himself _ as an alternative. 

So Ciel will squash these feelings down, and focus on helping his friend, and someday, months from now, or a year, when Alois is safe and happy and free of Claude’s influence, then maybe,  _ maybe _ Ciel will tell him how he feels. 

But not now.

He goes to bed. 

* * *

**January**

Alois and Lizzy get on like a house on fire. Despite having once experienced a house fire, Ciel had not fully understood this turn of phrase until he made this most unfortunate of introductions. Unfortunate, because Lizzy is the flame, and Alois is the gasoline, and Ciel is the  _ house _ . 

“He is very emotionally constipated, yes,” Lizzy says, as though  _ he _ isn’t sitting right next to her. “He’s been that way since our childhood, I’m afraid. I’ve given up on him.” 

Alois laughs. He’s holding the porcelain teacup with his pinky jutting straight out, because he saw Ciel do it  _ once,  _ by  _ accident,  _ and there’s a look in his eye like he’s daring Ciel to bring it up even as he addresses Lizzy. 

“I can picture it. Little Ciel with his poker face - or, more likely, scowling at everyone. Sitting in his cradle.” 

Lizzy giggles. “That’s precisely how he was! Ah, but at least, in those days, he’d throw a fit when he was upset, and smile when he was happy.” She sighs. “I can’t read him at all, now.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s hard to read.” Alois tosses a glance at Ciel, tilts his head, smirks. “If you know how. Easier than Claude—” He cuts off. His eyes dart to his cup. His pinky lowers, fingers all curling tightly around the handle. 

Lizzy smiles. “Is Claude difficult to read, as well? It can be frustrating, can’t it? Just like with Ciel.” 

Ciel bristles at the comparison, opens his mouth to protest—and Alois lifts his head. There’s a small smile on his face, hesitant and unsure, like a child just realizing he’s been let off for his wrongdoings. 

“Yes.” His voice is hushed, but he doesn’t look down again. “Yes, Claude is hard to read. It’s… it’s tiring, sometimes, always trying to guess what he’s thinking.” Alois hesitates again and then, in a whisper, confesses, “I wish he’d be more open.” He flushes, then, drawing back, as though surprised by his own words. 

Ciel understands the feeling. He exchanges a glance, and then a smile, with Lizzy. It was a good idea to introduce them. 

Lizzy claps her hands. “Oh! All this has made me remember the most  _ awful _ fit Ciel had at Disney, once.”

Alois lights up. He leans forward, a grin spreading across his face—but Ciel sees how his fingers still squeeze the handle just slightly too tight. Even so, today seems like a victory. Alois criticized Claude— _ that’s _ a first, and it must surely be a good thing, a sign, perhaps, that his self worth has increased enough that he feels deserving to make the complaint. And, besides that… even if all they’re going to do is trash-talk him, Ciel is glad that Alois has met Lizzy. He has more friends, now, than just Ciel. And that’s for the best. 

Yes, Ciel thinks, as Alois shoots him a smile and he feels his heart squeeze and his face grow warm. Yes, this is for the best. 

.

Snow falls. It gets colder. Alois’ list of complaints grows. 

Claude keeps the flat too cold. Claude’s mattress is too hard. Claude doesn’t like opening the windows. 

Claude gets home too late. Claude is impatient. Claude is demanding. 

Claude never asks how his day was. Claude wants to know where he is all the time. Claude gets angry easily. Claude doesn’t care when he cries. 

It’s progress, Ciel thinks, progress at last. Things are looking up. 

.

And then Alois disappears. 

.

Days pass. A week. Two weeks. Alois doesn’t return. Ciel doesn’t see him in the lift, or sitting in the gardens, or waving from the window, or hanging outside the studio with his bare feet picking up grime. 

Ciel calls and texts and leaves notes at the studio, and every time he sees those blue ticks and receives no response, his heart sinks a little bit more. In the night there are thumps and bumps, like before, but now there is only one muffled voice to be heard. 

At the end of the second week, Ciel calls in sick. He watches Claude leave through the window. Then he takes the lift to the 16th floor, walks down the hall, and knocks on the door. 

Alois opens it only a crack. His one visible eye widens, and then drops to study the floor. 

“Hello, Ciel.” 

Ciel stares at him. “That’s it?” 

“Do you want something?” His voice is soft, almost inaudible. 

“I… No, I’m… I came to…” Ciel stops. Sighs. Rakes a hand through his hair. “I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Are you alright? I’ve been hearing - noises, again, from your flat. Is everything—”

“What noise? I haven’t heard anything.” 

Ciel blinks. These are the same words they exchanged in October. Three months ago. Three months, and it’s like nothing has changed, except that, before, Alois lied with a smile on his face. Now he just stares at the floor, hidden by the door but for half of his face. His voice is monotonous, like he knows his words ring hollow, but he’s forcing them out regardless. Like he doesn’t even care that his performance is poor. 

“I’m fine, Ciel,” he says. “I’m fine.” 

God, but he sounds exhausted. He sounds like he’s just washed ashore from months adrift at sea. 

He steps away from the door, starting to close it, but Ciel puts his foot in the doorframe, pushing it open before Alois can react, before he can back away. And he sees it. 

Surrounding Alois’ other eye is a dark patch or black and blue and purple. Alois puts his hands up, covering the bruise, and turns away. 

“Don’t worry about this,” he says quickly, and his voice is pitched higher and his tone is airy, but the weight of his words as the way his shoulders tremble form a grotesque parody of lightheartedness. “It’s just - I was rehearsing and - and - well, you know how I am -”

“Alois.” 

“Really, it’s nothing serious, it’s just that I was trying a difficult move and I wasn’t paying attention like usual so I just -”

“Alois,  _ stop.” _

He stops. 

Ciel walks towards him, reaches out a hand, lets it drop. Says, “What do you need?” 

Alois falls apart. 

Minutes, or hours, or centuries later, when Alois finally starts to calm, Ciel says, “You can stay with me for a while, if you want.” 

They have been sitting close together on the floor, Alois clinging to Ciel, but now he lets Ciel go and backs away. “No.” 

There’s a guarded look in his eyes. Ciel feels a flash of hurt— _ what does Alois think of him? _ —but Lizzy’s voice echoes in his head. Think of things from his perspective. And then it hits him. Lizzy. 

.

When they arrive at Lizzy’s, Alois gets straight into bed and disappears under the covers. Ciel hovers by the door.

“Would you like me to stay?” 

There is no response.

“Would you like me to go?”

Nothing. 

Ciel sighs. “I’ll be downstairs,” he says. “And Lizzy’s in her room, if you need anything.” 

The blankets shift, and Ciel decides to interpret that as a thank you. He goes downstairs. 

Sebastian picks up on the second ring. 

“You are acquainted with Faustus, aren’t you?”

“What have you done now?” 

“Can you get rid of him? Make sure he stays away? We’re at Lizzy’s.”

“And here I thought you couldn’t wait to be rid of the boy.” 

“Can you do it or not?” 

Sebastian huffs. “Fine. You owe me.” 

Ciel hangs up.

.

Alois sleeps through the day, and much of the next as well. When he wakes, he spends his time with Lizzy. It makes sense, of course. She is a much gentler person than Ciel, and she is nonthreatening, and she is not so very obviously infatuated with him. Still, it stings that he seeks out her company over Ciel’s, and Ciel stays away not only for Alois’ comfort, but for his own wounded pride.

In the evening, Alois approaches him. He walks on completely silent feet; Ciel doesn’t realize he is there until he feels arms wrap around him from behind. 

“Thanks,” Alois mutters. 

Ciel turns. He looks at Alois and thinks how strange it is, for hatred to become infatuation, and for infatuation to become… something else. Something more. From the way Alois looks at him, he thinks Alois knows. Ciel burns to tell him, even so.

“Sebastian called,” he says instead. “Faustus won’t bother either of us, although we should both find new flats, just in case. He asked if you wanted to take him to court. It’s a crime, you know, what he’s done to you.” 

Alois shakes his head. “I’ve had enough of trials.” He turns away, to the window, arms coming up around himself. “I’m tired of - having my every bruise and broken heartstring poked and prodded at and questioned by a panel of people who will forget it all the moment they walk out of the courtroom.” 

Ciel hesitates, and then puts a hand on his shoulder. Alois smiles at him. “I think I just want to leave. So many bad things have happened in this country. I want to just… go somewhere else. Somewhere warm.” 

“I think that would be good for you,” Ciel says, and tries not to think about watching Alois fly away.

.

He leaves a week later, telling no one where he’s going, but promising with an insincere smirk to stay in touch. 

“I’ll come back,” he tells Ciel. “Eventually. Don’t think you’re rid of me yet.” 

Ciel watches his plane until it is a dot between the clouds, and then he turns and walks back home. 

* * *

**May**

Alois returns when spring is in full bloom. Ciel finds him standing, barefoot, on the grass outside Ciel’s new condo, a bag slung over his shoulder and a wide grin on his face. He is remarkably untanned, for having spent so much time in the tropics, but there is a healthy flush to him that wasn’t there before as he stands on his toes and jumps up and down and waves. 

They sit in the courtyard and trade stories. Ciel finds out that Alois has returned for a new musical at his old community theatre. He lights up when he talks about it, and all Ciel can think is how happy he is that Faustus is no longer here to douse his excitement. 

“The dance studio practically  _ begged _ me to come back, too,” he adds. “So I’ll be back across the street from you again!” 

“Gross,” Ciel deadpans, and Alois grins and tackles him into a hug. 

When the sun begins to set, Alois looks up at the clouds and smiles. “I missed you, Ciel.” 

“I…” Ciel shifts, clears his throat. “I… missed you too. Somewhat.” 

Alois laughs. “You haven’t changed.” 

“Neither have you,” Ciel counters, only he has. They both have. They are both so far from the people they once were. 

Alois looks at him like he knows exactly what Ciel is thinking. “Maybe,” he says, “we should make up for lost time,” and when Ciel blushes and stutters over the implications of that statement, he laughs again and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Ciel’s lips—which does not help in the slightest.

Then he jumps up, sashaying into the sunset. “Well, you know where to find me!”

Ciel watches until he is almost sure Alois is too far away to hear, and then he says, “Fuck, I think I’m in love with you.” 

For a moment, before Alois disappears around the corner, he thinks he hears  _ I love you too.  _

But that must've been the wind. 

**Author's Note:**

> this godforsaken fic took me FOUR MONTHS to finish. ffs
> 
> .
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story, and if you did, hey, comments are my lifeblood :) 
> 
> I have a Lot of Emotions about these kids, especially Alois, so if you want to chat or rant about these characters or this show feel free to hit me up @insomnia-productions on Tumblr!
> 
> Also, this fic is based on Alec Benjamin's "Must Have Been The Wind" and I would really recommend listening to it if you don't already know it!


End file.
